Of Candy and Shenaigans
by MissMandu
Summary: In which Axel is a world renowned advisor for criminals, and Roxas is the unwilling sixth wheel.
1. o1

Of Candy and Shenanigans

o.1:

To clear things up, it was totally Axel's fault.

Roxas fidgeted a little too nervously for his liking under the disapproving gaze of Namine, his younger sister who could totally set anything on fire with that gaze, and Sora, whose facial muscles seemed at unease frowning. He looked like he was experimenting with his frown, not quite sure how it was supposed to feel.

But really, it was totally completely Axel's fault. Not that he could explain to them or anything.

Considering their lack of knowledge of the last couple of months, they were fully justified in glaring at Roxas like that. Long story short: they were not rich. The fortunate thing about the Baskovs was that they had excellent teeth. Not a single cavity within their large-ish five-member family. But that was also the cause of their lack of dental insurance. Roxas, who was especially anal about keeping his teeth clean (the feeling of fuzzy bacteria was something he couldn't handle, thanks to multiple lectures from his father and one too many videos when he was in kindergarten), getting a serious cavity _and_ a chipped tooth was something that nobody was too pleased about.

"Come on, guys," he sighed at last, cracking under the pressure of identical blue eyes. "Shouldn't I be the one complaining here?" The throbbing in three different molars spoke clearly enough.

"I'm not complaining," Sora said quickly, looking away to seemingly admire a large stuffed tooth plushie. Where did they _get_ all this stuff? Was there like a line of designer tooth-themed furniture? "But, you know, a chipped tooth?"

Roxas made a point in ignoring him and flipping through a magazine that was, mercifully enough, not related to anything oral in any way, unless you counted the ad with some woman sucking on a lollipop in it. "I told you, I fell down the stairs."

Sora gave him a look that one could take as one almost offensive, but said no more. He had thoughtfully changed his cleats for his rarely-worn Converse shoes, for the sake of sanitary cleanliness within a hospital of sorts.

Namine, who was looking more and more like she had tagged along just to talk to Roxas about this and make him feel thirteen kinds of guilty, sighed and said, "You know that's not what's bothering me, Roxas."

She sounded tired. She was getting good at it these days. He supposed that anyone would be tired when their older brother, starting several months ago, started keeping secrets like hiding a gun inside his pillow when he slept. Which she had found. Damn his carelessness.

"Huh?" His Look of Confusion. "What are you talking about?"

She made a gesture similar to that of, _when you decide to talk to me, talk_. She wasn't one for prodding interrogations.

"Roxas Baskov?" The nurse was Latino, rather young and pretty. She had the classic look of a nurse used to patients ditching appointments. He was wondering why he hadn't done that yet when he made the mistake of glancing at his siblings. Ah. That was why. The chains that bound him to the responsibility that came with a normal life. Roxas scrambled up when he realized that he had been sitting down for a beat too long. With a look of bright encouragement from Sora and a quiet version of it from Namine, he followed the nurse where the rows of modern torture devices were located.

Okay, so he could totally admit he was acting childish about this. Dentists kept people's teeth from falling out. Dentists kept away sharp pains from cavities (fortunately, he was lucky enough to have chipped his tooth before the cavity got so bad that he needed to pull it out). Dentists were a good thing to have.

But if Sora and Namine were allowed to think it his fault for the craziness that was reality for the last half-year or so, he had more than enough right to bitch about it in his head.

He pushed himself onto the chair-thing, and eyed the tray of instruments like he was waiting for one of them to jump up and maul his face.

Before his imagination ran even wilder, the head doctor traipsed in, smiling what he clearly thought was a smile that would inspire even the laziest of teenagers to brush and floss and chew xylitol three times a day for the rest of their sad, sad lives. "Good afternoon…Roxas," he chirped, flouncing over to him. The doctor—Doctor Martinez, according to the embroidery—could be friends with Sora, Roxas thought. His mind was slowly slipping beyond his control with raw panic at the things he saw surrounding him. Plus, he caught the doctor glance down at the file to check his name's pronunciation.

"Good afternoon," he returned, a result of hanging around his sister and brother entirely too much for his own good.

Dr. Martinez leaned in close with a small mirror attached to a handle. The light thing he hadn't noticed before was turned on, making him blink and squint to keep his ability to see while the doctor checked out his cavities. "Wow. That is one chip, Roxas."

"It doesn't hurt," he promised, which was the truth.

"We'll have to thank your lucky stars for that." Roxas noticed with horror that his dentist didn't brush _his_ teeth—he could identify the exact kind of coffee he had drunk (the instant kind).

Roxas didn't reply. Dr. Martinez continued, as he began getting serious. "So, would you mind telling me how you got this?"

He considered it.

If he told someone who wasn't In with Axel, the redhead in question would get his ass kicked into prison as soon as his stay at the hospital was over. A broken rib and a few nasty bullets with a half-baked story plus a witness? That sounded like more than enough for a police investigation at best, death penalty at worse.

Just then his eyes found the deep wrinkles that were on his dentist's otherwise smooth face. It was clear this dentist was the type that just focused on his work and got his patient to talk just to distract them.

The world was just _begging_ him to get it off his chest. When the various instruments entered his mouth and the nurse walked in with more things on an even larger tray, he realized this was going to be one long appointment by the look on the nurse's face. They wouldn't really understand with all the stuff in his mouth, too. He also had to "open wide."

And so Roxas launched into his part of the fall of Axel, criminal mastermind extraordinaire.

-:-

Roxas Baskov was actually a pretty darn graceful and agile person. Years of dodging Sora's playful punches (the brunette thought that it was light and painless when it was anything but, and Roxas was too proud to admit it) left him with quick reflexes, too. But weren't exceptions made when you were late for class with an essay that he needed to turn in within fifteen minutes if he wanted to get five extra credit points?

That was his legitimate explanation as to why he crashed into a person that was strolling along at a normal pace and got coffee splashed all over him.

"Shit!" The curse burst out of his mouth before he could even check to see if it was—horror of all horrors—a teacher from his school. One startled look around let him know that the person was definitely not anyone that went to his prep school. He would remember a hair that was _cherry red_. God, and he'd thought that his Russian relatives had crazy hair, and that was just a dark strawberry blonde compared to _that_ color.

"Whoa, you okay?" The stranger looked stunned at someone running literally into him at that speed and surviving even after a cup of thankfully lukewarm coffee sloshed all over. Roxas noted with breaking temper that the owner of said coffee didn't get one drop on him. And he couldn't really blame the guy for the shock. He was pointy as fuck, and Roxas wasn't one made of steel.

"I think so." He looked down at his shirt and felt the strongest kind of genuine gratitude that Namine always packed an extra shirt in his bag for him. As graceful and quick and agile as Roxas was, trouble found him anyways. And stains were something his parents couldn't afford, because uniform shirts were goddamn expensive. "I'll be fine." Wordlessly, he made his way to a public bathroom he knew was nearby. He always ran through the park when he was late. Late in his book, anyways.

"Need help?" The stranger was following him anyways.

"Um…" He hesitated.

"Oh, come on," the guy laughed. "I'm not going to inject anything in you as some kind of freaky science experiment."

True enough. He made no noise of distress when the guy followed.

"The name's Axel," the stranger drawled, a tone something he had never heard before but imaged was one of lazy confidence. "Have it memorized."

"Um, okay." He couldn't resist giving him a wtf, man? look.

Axel pushed open the door to the bathroom. Roxas was kind of miffed that he needed to strip his shirt off with someone he barely knew right there, but oh well. He did it in the locker room three days out of seven for gym, anyways. He unbuttoned his white button-up and paused.

"I would, uh, kind of appreciate it if you don't stare," he said slightly awkwardly. "I have a bad memory with voyeurs." The guy also looked like he was past eighteen. He asked himself if an adult could get arrested for staring at the bare torso of a minor. He felt uncomfortable.

Axel found this totally hilarious for some reason. "Really? Would you mind sharing that memory?"  
"Kind of," he admitted. At least he had listened to Roxas's request. He quickly pulled off his shirt and stuck it under the tap. Grabbing a few sheets of paper towels and dabbing at his skin before tossing it away for the dryer alternative to absorb the wetness again, he studied his new acquaintance.

Green eyes. Extremely green. Green to the point it looked radioactive. The eye-catching red hair, long, spiking out all over the place. Sharp features, arrogant grin. Tall—giant from all the way down where Roxas was—and bony and all angles. He was also wearing the uniform of his school.

Well, darn. Just when he'd thought he was good at studying people. "You, uh, go to St. Jude's?"

"I'm entering junior year with some old friends today," Axel divulged, leaning against the white tile and openly drinking up the sight as Roxas buttoned up his backup shirt quickly. He had become resigned to the fact that he would have to deal with turning in his paper with the rest of the lowly students. He was more worried about the concern his English teacher would feel when he would realize that his top student wasn't coming in early to turn in an _essay_.

"Huh. You look kind of old." Roxas pulled at his shirt, trying to get it to sit right. Namine was _psychic_ or something. Or maybe just smart in the way he would never be smart.

"I was away for a while," Axel shrugged. "School isn't really a choice in involuntary, full-time rehab, you know."

Talk about TMI. "That's very…nice. That you're out of rehab, that is," he added hastily. Axel handed him his backpack (when had he picked it up from where the rightful owner had left it?) and they left the bathroom together. At least his backpack was clean. His shirt had received all of the damage, and he was again thankful that the weather had been warm enough so that he had stuffed his compulsory sweater vest away in the dark depths along with his pencil case.

"Well, Switzerland was nice," Axel agreed. "Nice people, too."

No more was said on the topic. "How old are you, then, if you don't mind my asking?" Roxas was using every ounce of strength in his soul to keep up small talk. Conversations with people he didn't know was something he hadn't done since he had discussed World of Warcraft versus Runescape with Pence five years ago.

"If anyone asks, it's eighteen, of course." There was a subtle note of a half-hearted threat.

"Oh." Roxas nodded, understanding. "Okay, I get it."

"You've been at St. Jude's for long?"

"Yeah. Since second grade."

Axel snorted. "Whose idea was it to name the best prep school on the west coast after the saint of hopeless cases?"

"You're Christian?" He was surprised; Axel didn't strike him as a religious person at all.

"Of _course_ not." The eye roll was actually pretty impressive. "But, you know. Catholic school. I may or may not have done some research out of pure curiosity of that religion."

It did make more sense that Axel would know how to make lightbulb bombs, but would not know what the Holy Trinity was. "Ah. I see."

"What's your grade, no-name?"

"Sophomore." A pause. Then self-consciously, "My name's Roxas. Baskov."

"I know a Baskov," Axel prattled on as they neared the school's rather impressively archaic, quaint building. "He's named Demyx."

"Demyx? Like, dirty-blonde, swims, guitar?"

"Oh, you know him?"

"He's my cousin." Roxas was getting a little worked up. "Damn, I haven't seen him since I was ten. Did he transfer to St. Jude's, too?"

"Yeah. He was in Switzerland, I was in Switzerland, he told me about this school he was going to in a few weeks, and…" A flourish the highest and most snobbish of aristocracy would be wowed with was made with knuckle-y hands. "Viola. Here I am, gift to this town."

"Did he seem to like Switzerland?" Roxas's memory of Demyx was one of fondness, full of hot summery days and Demyx condescending to Sora and Namine's silly childhood games. He was a _full year_ older than Sora, and two years older than Nam, after all. Play _tag_ with a ten year old and a nine year old? Well…okay, it wouldn't hurt. That was the general good natured teasing Demyx did.

Demyx's part of the family was the part of the family that was ridiculously wealthy, and they could afford sending their darling only child to a European boarding school at the tender age of eleven. He made a mental note to ask Demyx why he came back when all he heard from his aunt and uncle was gushing tales of his success there. He had even taken up piano, which _of course_ meant now they were making plans to send him to Germany.

"I think he did." There was a cautious note in the was Axel spoke. "Anyways, can you tell me where the office is? I need to get my textbooks."

They were inside the building already? Well, then. "Uh, sure." Roxas jabbed a thumb at the basic direction. "This way. Follow me."

Navigating the halls was not an easy feat. Despite the selective nature of this school—and that was why he was slightly awed that Axel was good enough for the administrative board to nod at him and allow him within the heavy mahogany doors despite the drugs factor—and as large as the building seemed from the outside, it was kind of cramped when all two thousand of the high school grades were swarming around before class.

In his next movie, Roxas decided, he would include the scene of all the students walking around and talking. It would focus on a few groups, talking and laughing, and would be blurry for a second before focusing on students speeding past, late for classes. It would be set to a medium-paced song, full of low guitars and high guitars and a lazily sung vocal part.

The office was intimidating on three different levels: the amount of disciplinary action, the secretary, and the headmistress were all components.

Axel didn't look like he needed anymore help once he got the map from the secretary, so Roxas made a little wave before swimming through the bodies clad in the summer uniform, the lighter pants and skirts, the thinner button-up tops, the lighter-knit sweater vest—

Which he really should put on if he didn't want to get his ass busted by the uptight hall monitor. He skidded to a stop by his locker and pulled it on over his head, not really pulling the collar of his shirt yet.

The phone number of his cousin was there. As awkward and odd as it might be, if Demyx was worth getting close to again, he wouldn't have changed.

He was debating between a text and a call when a hand clamped over his shoulder. "Hey, Roxas!"

He spun around, clutching his heart. He let his hand drop from the humiliating gesture when he saw it was The Cousin. "Demyx?"

He looked taller (something that kind of made Roxas pissed his mom gave him the Short Gene), and tanner, and more nutty than last time. So in a nutshell, it was Demyx intensified.

"Hey." Roxas felt a grin coming on at the easiness Demyx made even the most uptight of people feel.

"You don't seem very surprised." Demyx wasn't disappointed, but rather slightly amused.

"This guy told me." Roxas's hands were jerking all over the place, as if they could illustrate Axel. "His name's—"

"Demyx." A junior (he knew by the color of the name tag) with silver-blue hair materialized behind his cousin. He recognized him as Zexion, the guy that always won all the spelling bees and always received the top award for everything. Rumor had it that he would be going straight to third year of college next year, but he didn't ever know him well enough to ask. "Hello, Roxas."

His serenity and manners was something that Roxas's mother had marveled at ever since they spoke to each other once. "Hi, Zexion." They knew each just enough to nod if they passed in the hallways.

"Demyx." Zexion turned to the taller of the two blondes. "Don't you have the swimming coach to talk to?"

"You still swim?" Roxas interrupted. Yeah, it was obvious why his mom was so smitten with good manners, he realized with a wince.

"Yup," Demyx grinned. It was kind of like Axel's but a little saner. "Zexion's my planner. I bet he knows my schedule better than I do, and he's looked at it like twice."

"Thrice," Zexion corrected. He made a small movement with his head that showed the swim team membership-vying boy to the right road.

Demyx said a quick goodbye before jetting off.

Which left Roxas alone with Zexion. It was getting real uncomfortable, real fast. "So, uh… You know Demyx?"

"Old friends," came the reply, all polite and just the right amount of easiness.

Hayner exploded out of the closest stairway and shouted, "Dude, last night I found the—" He cut himself off mid-sentence when he saw the older student. "Oh."

Roxas had absorbed some of Zexion's natural etiquette through osmosis by then. "Hayner, this is Zexion." As you probably know, he added mentally. "Zexion, this is Hayner."

"We have newspaper together," Hayner said in a smaller voice. "Hey, Zexion. Elections for next year's hard to keep up with, huh?"

"Good thing I have completely eligible help." It was astounding how one could sound courteous even if he wasn't smiling. "I apologize, but it seems like the swimming coach is having troubles understanding Demyx talk. I should help translate."

Hayner and Roxas both said the proper good-bye. Once Zexion was out of earshot, Roxas turned to his friend and said, "You found what?"

"I don't remember," he groaned. "Damn. Anyways, Pence and Olette are going to be a little late, with the science project and all."

Unlike him and Hayner, their two other friends excelled in science. "Is their mold growing?"

"Olette also told me tell you that yes, the mold is _thriving_, and will thrive on your face if you make fun of their choice project if you ever call it that again." Hayner paused. "Which I just did, I guess."

"I'll be sure to let her know." A small smile appeared over Roxas's face.

"Did you turn in that essay yet?"

"Not yet." His mood warped back into somber. "I ran into this…_junior_ with a cup of coffee this morning. I had to change my shirt and wash my other one. It's in my locker right now, drying."

"Ouch." As an underachiever just getting by classes, Hayner wouldn't really understand the pain of losing _five_ extra credit points. "Which junior?"

"This new guy. His name's Axel." Roxas resisted snorting at the memory of that lame "Get it memorized" gimmick. Hayner and Olette, who were a _lot_ higher on the social ladder than him (even Pence was above him when it came to the artsy people, which St. Jude had an abundance of), wouldn't feel very pleased if he laughed at someone who was friends with Zexion (only smart kid in the social elite of their school) by association with Demyx. It was complicated here that way, and Roxas found all of that completely bullshit, but ah well.

"I think I heard about him." Hayner's brows furrowed as he concentrated. "From Sweden, right?"

"Switzerland," he corrected. "Yeah. He knows my cousin. Remember my oh-so amusing anecdotes of Demyx?"

"You can't really forget them the way you said them."

Ignoring the cousin-crush jab, Roxas continued. "He transferred in, too. I talked to him. Looks like he told Axel about St. Jude's in the first place."

"We'll see if we have to thank him later." Hayner's face suddenly lit up. "Hey, I remembered what I forgot!"

Olette and Pence found them half a second later, fanboying over the ultra-rare item Hayner had found the night before at their current MMORPG game of choice. Olette's look when she caught on what they were getting so excited about, along with Pence catching said enthusiasm, made it clear that sometimes she was just too cool for these guys.

As they all made their way to first-period homeroom, the one class all four of them shared, Hayner did the talking for Roxas and kept the other two updated on The Happening of Now.

Olette carefully arranged her skirt after sitting down besides Hayner. Because she was next in line for the throne of Queen Bee status next year, she had been getting training from the current Queen, and it was starting to show. Or at least, it looked like training. Miraculously enough, Olette wasn't half as annoying as the current queen when she did little things like that, the little actions that made her the high school equivalent of the crown princess. St. Jude's was unique in the way that the Queen Bees rose to the title when they were in junior year. Roxas was the only one that called them The Queen, because the alternative was embarrassing to even think about. And even then it was just in his head. "Introduce us to your cousin. He sounds nice."

"He is," Roxas agreed. "I'll probably be dragged into some kind of small-scale family reunion anyways. I'll ask if you guys can tag along if it happens."

"You make us sound like baggage," Pence mused aloud as he sifted through his planner. He was the most organized, and therefore smartest, of their quartet.

"Baggage that's going to _ace_ this science project." Olette's smile was manic. She had, once upon a time, cleared up why they were growing mold on a chemistry project, but Roxas couldn't understand half the terms. Finally, a non-cheerleader, nice, intelligent Queen for once. Before she could brag about the success, the homeroom teacher marched in.

Announcements were announced, and newspapers were delivered to those who ordered them. Pence was the only one who bothered to get them, but it didn't really matter because the four of them were the same person in essence anyways. Roxas was too proud to admit that he couldn't afford two-dollar "newspapers" (they appeared more like thin magazines, glossy and high quality) every day.

"New students list," Pence read out loud. "Demyx Baskov, Axel Heiderfeggen. What's up with all these weird names in our school?"

"Europeans like private schools?" Olette guessed.

"That sounds borderline racist," Hayner intoned.

As the other three rambled on about their theories as to why weird last names were prevalent and practically normal at their school, Roxas skimmed the biographies on his cousin and Axel. Russian, German, respectively. Ethnicity was something that _mattered_ at this school, sadly enough. It mattered to a greater extent than regular high schools, at least. Roxas's slight Icelandic DNA had spared him from bullying, but Pence? He needed defending against those goddamn racists every day. Hayner and Olette had fused in with the Pence-Roxas friendship thanks to their lack of stupidity and prejudice.

Homeroom ended; the four split up. Roxas was very, very good at running into all kinds of obstacles and dreading being late for class before making it _just in time_, and just because a weekend passed since the latest fight to flight didn't mean that anything would change.

He didn't usually trip on errant feet that didn't mean to, but he did, and mumbling curses under his breath and scrambling for his papers, he found two feet that were standing in front of him. He looked up slowly.

"I didn't know falling could look so well-practiced," Axel observed, helping Roxas up before he could even realize what was going on. "I give you a nine point five."

"I feel blessed." He said this flatly, and he walked around searching for his papers before they could be trampled on. Axel, however, had collected all of them, and was offering them to Roxas. "Uh… Thanks."

"You're welcome." Axel continued, without skipping a beat, "You've got a minute to get to class, by the way."

"Oh. Uh, thanks," Roxas repeated, feeling more and more discomfited. "See you later?"

"Probably," Axel nodded. It was the last movement Roxas saw before he dashed for his next class. He was fully used to preparing for classes beforehand. He had the class after this one fully ready to go, too, textbook and all. This running under heavy weight was the sole reason he was on the fit side of America. Axel made him uneasy, like he was hiding a gun inside the length of his uniform pants.

When he was putting his papers in the right order during the ten spare seconds he had left as soon as he put his feet inside the room, he found a note from Demyx asking to hang out after class.

Okay, so maybe he should have known that Axel would be there.

**Oh God, this plot. -.-;; **

**This is like my, what, fourth piece of writing for this very plot. Sigh sigh sigh. Sigh. **

**My characterization of Roxas is very, very shaky here, I admit. Axel should be more insane, but… It'll work out? ;_____________; **

**I realize that this is far from good, or even decent, so **_**constructive**_** criticism is something I always, always need more of. Please help me improve! And I completely realize my pacing is errant. I am in that stage of penance where you are at your guiltiest. **


	2. o2

o.2:

As mentioned previously, Roxas was a bit of an overachiever who depended on pure luck to get anywhere without tripping on, say, a dead pigeon.

A dead pigeon being poked at by a kindergartener.

A dead pigeon being poked at by a kindergartener with a _switchblade_.

A dead pigeon being poked at by a kindergartener with a switchblade humming the Barney theme song.

Point was, he kind of arrived wet knee-down at the location of the cousin reunion. Demyx looked kind of concerned but seemed to remember Roxas clear enough to not ask about it, instead asking about classes and the usual things people who had forgotten their best friend talked about. He was to lead him to the more exact location of their hangout.

"You wouldn't mind a few people, right?" Demyx asked, looking a bit worried. His hands were ones that belonged to someone that suffered from an abnormal amount of anxiety.

"I don't mind." This was entirely true.

"No biggie." Roxas tried valiantly not to twitch at his older twin saying something like _no biggie_. Maybe a Switzerland thing. "Now, I know you're _dying_ to ask me about my European expedition, but wait a little longer. We're almost there."

He was glad that none of his friends could read minds, because his next thought was something that would have solidified the cousin-crush theory. He had forgotten how _attractive_ Demyx could be when he got excited—the tan skin flushed to a pleasant shade, the almost neon blue shade of the eyes got even more intense, and his smile really was quite flattering. After momentarily cursing his clichéd way of describing such rainbow-inducing changes, he also wondered briefly if he really _did_ have a crush on his cousin.

And then Demyx shouted in a very embarrassing, very _loud_ way to the huddle of juniors lounging about on a small cluster of park benches. And of course, no one—_no one_—forgot hair that color.

Said potential gun-smuggler grinned in a fashion that could only be described as malicious. "He looks smaller every time, I swear."

A blue-haired (senior? He looked older than the rest of them) guy with an oddly shaped scar in between his eyes snorted and rolled his eyes. He gave the vibe of one who was used to the mildly insane antics of the redhead. Axel jumped off from his perching branch of choice, the back-supporting part of an unlucky bench, and landed messily in front of Roxas.

He was, once again, struck by the height. "Hello," he forced out pleasantly. He ignored the height jab. It was an established fact that he would never have a growth spurt; he would just slowly increase in height until he was five feet five, if lucky. Weren't Russians supposed to be big-boned and huge?

Then Axel's optical organs did something odd and Roxas imagined himself with a camera. Not the camcorder he owned as of now, but a high-quality, genuine _film_ quality camera. He would zoom in on the toxic green color, staring fixedly at him, even though he knew better than to do such cheap tricks. Their little standoff would be from maybe a bird's eye angle, or that one where it looked up. It probably wouldn't flatter him, because he was short and shorter, but maybe.

Demyx was busy chatting up everyone else—he caught that their names were Marluxia, Larxene, Saix, and of course Zexion—and he was doing his very best not to cave and look the other direction.

This was getting ridiculous.

Axel was clearly enjoying making him feel like an idiot, especially while _he_ seemed completely put together while doing the same thing as him. "So, Roxas. Did that stain get out."

Larxene looked like someone who was _dying_ to make a "stain" joke, so Roxas purposely shifted so that the taller of the two oddly matched conversationalists would be harder to hear. "Yeah."

He realized a moment too late that Axel was waiting patiently for him to speak. Then they both said at the same time, "Coffee isn't that bad," and "Was Demyx's hair always that weird?"

That proved it. They just weren't meant to be.

"I. Uh." Roxas coughed. "Excuse me," he said, and all but ran to Demyx without quite catching the way his _former _partner in badly timed, badly put together dialogue reacted to the way he cut off their nascent talk in a way that made it clear that, yes, he had no social skills.

Cursing himself, he said to Demyx, "So, where are we going?"

"Ooh, right!" Demyx introduced his forehead to his palm. "_We_ are going to this place called Quickly's—ever heard of it?"

Everyone knew Quickly's. It was also infested with teenyboppers and brainless perverts alike, which was why he and his siblings steered clear of that general area. He was also pretty sure that crack cocaine was added to all of their drinks and fried snacks—_nothing_ could be that delicious, really. Which was yet another reason why he avoided it like the plague: he really didn't need another temptation to blow his measly allowance on. Really, ten dollars a month? Yeah, he would rather save up for that camera.

His Dem hadn't changed one bit: he melted from one topic to another seamlessly. An impossible feat. "My friends are really lame, sorry. We'll probably end up getting kicked out, after we loudly discuss the validity of porn magazines."

He managed to keep his face neutral. Dem? Reading porn magazine? That was too big of a thought to bear by himself; the mental image was much too scarring to not share. "You? Reading porn magazines?"

"Theoretically speaking," he vocally pouted. "Although it wouldn't put it past Axel—you know him, right?"

"Of course I do." Axel was butting in. That question had been for _Roxas_, dammit. He wanted to talk to his cousin! "He's a speedy fellow. Did you ever consider track?"

"Not really." His tolerance for annoyance was very little, and it was being testing within five minutes of "hanging out" with his cousin. More like being intercepted left and right by this freak of nature whose tattoos were probably fake.

"All that hallway running enough sports cred to make you a certified jock?" The smirk was evident.

"Luckily, some people move with supernatural speed and help me pick up my things."

He paused, and digested his statement. Okay, so maybe he should have known that it would oh-so-slyly suggest that the receiver was still on drugs. _But because the world was blessedly fucked up in every way_, Axel threw his head back and laughed with such energy that several others glanced at him.

The unity of the group was amazing, Roxas noted, while he waited for his new stalker to finish laughing.

"If you _must_ know." He was still chuckling—what the hell was so funny? He didn't seem like the kind of person that tried hard to get along with people, too. "My poison of choice was something that would slow me down rather than pick me up, you know?"

"Um." He wondered how Hayner would react if he texted him asking: what's the acceptable thing to say when someone talks to you about their illegal drug of choice?

"Stop looking so out of place," Dem, mercifully enough, said. It was a joke. "You look like you're hanging out with a group of criminals while your conscience is biting you."

For some reason, the look Axel gave Demyx was sharper than the well-kept sword of a medieval executioner. His opinion of the wielder of glares was lowered considerably more. He didn't like the looks of this guy at all, and he was on the brink of _hating_ him when he said, with equal parts snark and man-bitchiness, "Jeez, Dem, you'd think I'd be used to your brainless little ditties by now."

Roxas and Demyx flinched at around the same time. Which _he_ bristled, Dem became uncharacteristically moody.

"And you'd think I'd be used to your… '_attitude_.'" Dem snickered behind guitar-callused hands.

Whatever that inside joke was, it worked. Axel snorted with laughter once more. "Oh God, your English teacher."

"Your English teacher, too, now." The beam was back, sunny and reflecting off of pools of water.

"She's a harpy," Axel declared. "Absolutely foul."

"It wouldn't kill her to shave," Dem agreed. His eyes drifted over to the rest of the group, at or past Zexion, and at the café-cum-teenybopper wasteland they were quickly approaching. "Hey, we're already almost here."

Roxas promptly felt irrational fear at being around all these…giants. Fueled by high-calorie drinks and fried foods, most likely. Maybe his own diet played a part in aiding his short gene, as well: most of what he ate was vegetarian, because his mom was. She brutally slaughtered and massacred the very plants she grew with sweat and effort and the occasional nasty, deep hoe (snort)-cuts that healed okay without stitches. It was like his entire family had _evolved_ to fit their low cash funds.

"Guys?" Demyx's voice was one of those voices where, even if you whispered, you could hear from across the room. Poor guy—chatty _and_ easy to bust by teachers. "I've just realized." He gently enclosed Roxas within his grasp and pulled him into view. "This is Roxas, my cousin. He's only a year younger," he added, as if by warning, "so don't treat him like a tagalong." He looked warily at the blonde girl, Larxene. "Larxene."

"I wouldn't _dare_ deign to do such a thing," she sneered, standing next to the muscled but _pink_ haired half-man, half-cotton candy junior.

"That's Saix." Demyx was pointing at each and every one of his friends. "That's Marluxia. You know Zexion. And Axel, it seems. And you've just ensured yourself immunity from Larxene's perverted antics. You're not really her type, thank God."

Was he supposed to be insulted?

Saix slipped into place besides Roxas. "You're Demyx's cousin?"

He nodded.

The smile he received could be described only on two ways: malicious and wry. "Was his hair always like this?"

"No." He grinned back, almost having to bend his back to meet the eyes of the scarred teen. The guy looked like a werewolf in human form. "After his stay in Switzerland."

"Ah." The maliciousness stayed; the wry factor was pushed aside for the dry variant. "Then perhaps my theory of Demyx having absorbed Axel's 'drugs' is correct."

"Yes," Axel said very loudly, full-out death glaring at Saix. "My _drugs_, because I was in Switzerland in _rehab_."

Roxas did what all the Baskovs did when they were confused: they were puzzled and acted clumsy as a result.

Having caught his balance at the last moment, he saw Demyx's erstwhile light heartedness being brutally murdered by anxiety. "Yes! Drugs! The drugs, uh, right. Axel's a bad influence, huh?" The smile was shaky at best.

He looked around, and saw that the way Zexion was looking at him was with caution and sudden mistrust. Larxene and Marluxia also seemed tense in the space of a nanosecond.

"Roxas." He brought his attention back to Zexion. "May I ask why you have that camera?"

"He brings it everywhere, Zex." The tone was dark, full of warning, and it came from the person he thought would never talk in a voice like that. There seemed to be a storm that covered the seven of them, despite the heat that was enough to drive saints into genocide. "He isn't like…"

"Yeah. I know." Zexion crossed the space between them, stopped right before things got real uncomfortable. "Could I hold onto it? God knows that thieves are everywhere nowadays."

"S-sure." He was perplexed, and a little terrified, and he never _ever_ let anyone touch his camera, but he wasn't really thinking. The tension wasn't leaving, and he had a terrible feeling that he was part of the reason why.

"Come on." Axel seemed drained. "I'll tell you about the hot nurses."

-:-

Quickly's had been quickly (heh) abandoned immediately after their orders came out. Everything was to-go so that they could add their crushing weight on top of the weather on the dehydrating grass.

"There should be a downpour soon," Demyx was in the process of whining as Roxas was half on his lap, blushing profoundly, picking at the French fries and trying not to think about other things that started with _French_. Definitely not the kissing one. Yeah. Totally.

Larxene was sitting in the only shade there was within their vicinity, along with Zexion. Their poor complexions, always burning like dry leaves in hell. "So what? You can swim to classes while the rest of us lowly civilians drown in our tears?" She turned her head to fix her scary, scary eyes at Roxas. "So, _Roxas_, tell us about you."

He was suddenly reminded of something he had read a long time ago, something about _entrance ceremonies_ and _distrusting elders_. "Uh. I'm Russian. A bit Icelandic." He fidgeted off of Demyx's lap when he saw that Larxene's gaze glinted when she noticed. "I want to be a filmmaker, hence the camera." Which was still in Zexion's increasingly claw-like grasp. "I have two siblings, and both my parents are still alive and together. My little sister is Namine Baskov, and my older twin is Sora Baskov."

"Sky-boy?" Marluxia interrupted. "Doesn't your sister know him, Axel?"

"Yeah." The older brother in question nodded. "Kairi. You hear about her?"

And he thought Europeans had excellent English grammar. Then again, Demyx's vocabulary limit was atrocious to the second power. "Yeah." He had brief visions of a slim, pretty redhead whose hair color was a whole lot less full-out violent than the shade of her older brother's ketchup shade.

"I bet she dyes her hair," Axel grumped, probably having telepathy. With _Roxas_? Okay, maybe it was better to tell himself that it was merely a coincidence, because minds that were _alike_ shared thoughts. He was set on believing that he and Axel were so opposite that they clashed. Down to the hair color.

"So, go on." Zexion, who was fiddling with Roxas's camera (baby), urged.

"Uh." He picked at the grass. "My birthday is August 13th. I'm a sophomore, almost done with my year. My hair is darker where the sun doesn't hit it all the time. I like the beach."

"Demmy's soul mate," Larxene hissed. He ignored her, for all his furious blushing.

"My mom's vegetarian. My dad isn't. I'm a liberal. My friends—Olette, Hayner, Pence—claim I'm an overachiever. I'm not." He scowled. "I like windy days. I run around a lot, because obstacles tend to pop up."

"Are you good at logical thinking, Roxas?" Zexion asked. It was such an unexpected question that he blinked a few times in rapid succession.

"I think so." He also thought that he had just failed in something.

"Interest in _CSI_?" Larxene asked innocently, nibbling on her French fry.

"With a dash of _Ocean's 11_ fandom?" Marluxia joined in, grinning. "_The Godfather_? Other criminal and mafia films?"

"He's arthouse all the way," Demyx cut in, looking dramatically affected.

"Both definitions?" Larxene tried to keep a straight face and lost the battle between instinct and control.

"Report her for sexual harassment," Axel snapped, and swooped down to pick up Roxas with dizzying speed. "Let's go for a walk, you and me."

"Should I come along?" Demyx was starting to stand.

"No. You stay and do whatever it is that you do with Zexion." His sneering abilities were—

Wait.

What.

Roxas looked at Zexion because: _what_?

Before he could vocalize his bewilderment, though, he was being half-dragged to the cement road that cut through the very park he had met Axel in. half stumbling, half in balance, he managed to take complete control of his movements again. "Jeez, talk about manhandling."

"Sorry." He didn't sound it. Axel was preoccupied in glaring at the trees, almost ecstatically in bloom. "And sorry about _them_, too. They're kind of elitist. And xenophobic."

"Uh." Maybe he really should secretly text Hayner on what to say in such situations.

"They'll get better with time, hopefully." A small glimpse was aimed at him, and hit the bull's eye. "Especially Larxene."

"Uhhh." His eloquence and diction was clearly making for a thriving conversation. "I. Um."

"Yeah." Axel was looking at him funny now, and he un-linked their arms. "I wouldn't, heh, ask any questions, though, if I were you."

Roxas considered his question. Then decided to ask it anyways. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing." He waved his hand and almost shouted, as if volume played a part in legitimacy.

"Oh. Okay." He felt that he was better off not knowing, anyways. "So, uh, Demyx and…Zexion?"

"I don't know what those two are doing," he brooded in reply, "but it's kind of weird, considering they barely interacted before. I don't know." He seemed to rewind when he remembered who he was talking to. Or rather, how out of the light he was. "Anyways, how is the approaching summer vacation doing for your nerves?"

He didn't like the feel of sharp angles digging into his very human flesh, but said nothing and allowed the mildly insane, extremely confusing rehab-graduate keep his arm slung around his shoulders. "Fine, I guess."

"Going anywhere special?"

Hopefully to a camera store, actually, or the grave of Jean-Luc Godard. "No, not really."

Axel stopped leading their tango-esque walking and stared. "You're not one for conversation."

"Small talk might not be my talent," he agreed.

"Whatcha gonna do during break?"

"Film stuff." Hopefully not home movies. "Read. Be hassled by my friends. Get a job."

"…a _job_?"

"Yes, a job." He was becoming defensive, the sensitive switch even more sensitive than before, his mind still on the Demyx-Zexion issue. "You know, when you do shitty, boring, borderline suicide-inducing things for what will hopefully be minimum wage for hours on time. Almost every day, in my opinion."

"Whoa, there, no need to get hostile." The position of his hands: I surrender. "I just didn't think that anyone who goes to St. Jude's needed a _job_, is all."

He didn't like the way Axel said "job" in the way he didn't like Axel as a whole: arrogant, snide, sneering. "There are _at least_ three, for sure."

"Three? And what kept me from this stunning revelation?" Sarcasm. Ye gods. He wondered if he could make it to Demyx at a sprint before Axel caught up.

"Because it isn't important." He was exasperated, and dodged the clingy arm. "Really, it doesn't matter. I'm going to sell myself for to bucks an hour, hopefully more, for three months, and stalk people on the side. Does that satisfy your probing inner reporter?"

"You," Axel sighed after a moment of word-digestion, "are the most antagonistic person I've ever met, and that's saying something."

That did it. "Alright, thanks for the walk. And tell Demyx I appreciate the invite. But I have to go now, really; I have to help my mom at her shop."

Was that a…pout? Really, that was wrong. So, so wrong. "You don't have to _leave_. I'm sure Demmy's skills in digression are more than enough to keep the harshness off."

"Thanks, but no." He was backing off slowly, because the hostility was being poked at, being told to morph into caution and fear. "It's getting late, too. I have parents. And siblings I need to take care of."

His last proclamation, oddly enough, softened Axel's _warning_ look. "Parents?"

"Yeah."

"Your mom owns a shop?"

"Probably not for long." He remembered overhearing his parents discussing selling the shop, because business was bad. "Listen, I…" He shook his head. "See you around."

"Yeah, alright." Axel resembled a man being spoken to by God, or whatever else it was that was up there. "See you."

-:-

And it was the strangest thing,

But that walk with him was the most inspiring experience Roxas had in forever.

-:-

He half power-walked home, pulled out his keys whose paint was wearing off, and shoved it violently into the keyhole. He refused to think about how much that way of opening doors appeared like a rape.

Namine, Sora, and his dad were in the living room, small to the point that you could see all of it in one glance. His sister was on her stomach, dividing her attention between a sketch of something and the news. She looked up at the louder-than-usual entrance. "Where were you?"

"Later, I need to storyboard." He sped past. "Hi, dad."

"Dinner in ten!" his mother announced from the kitchenette. It grew from the living room like a cyst.

"I'll be there in fifteen." He stomped and climbed up the ladder to the microscopic "attic" they had, which was more his than anyone else's. "Storyboarding."

"It's been a while since I heard that word." The fondness was a bright light. "Alright, fifteen. No later."

He pulled himself excruciatingly through the ceiling hole-cum-attic floor. "Okay."

And he was alone, and his brain was abuzz with ideas.

Blowing the gauzy layer of dust off of his white board, making _another_ mental note to wash it because he was going to need it frequently nowadays, he felt the amazing sense of _belonging_. This wasn't his home, this attic: this was his skin. The one he had no choice but to shed for the mundane existence of everyday life, the one he had neglected.

He arranged his camcorder on the round basket Namine had made and decorated for that purpose alone.

And just. Well. He could say that not thinking, just diagramming and brainstorming, was the most spiritual thing there was to him.

Hand aching, throat dry, legs asleep: none of that mattered. It was just him, his giant whiteboard, and a dry erase marker whose end was imminent.

Fifteen minutes was not enough. Forty minutes after a wolfed-down dinner was.

Collapsing onto the pile of clean blankets he himself had arranged, spread-eagle, he felt complete. Enlightened. Whole. One piece. No anxiety, no worries, no fear. He had half forgotten how to relax his muscles, all of them, one by one or all at once, and he was relaxed in a way that was almost blasphemous to be relaxed.

He turned his head to the left, and drank in the sight of the endless A-rated schemes. It was _inhuman_ how—

And he sat up quickly, ignoring the head rush.

It was _inhuman_, how much his inner muse was motivated immediately after a stay in the stunning presence of Axel.

"No," he moaned. Knees to chest, fists to eyes. "No, no, no."

_This_ wouldn't last, these eyes that were open to everything. Nothing ever lasted.

Unless.

Well.

He imagined it: _hey, I spent an hour and five minutes brainlessly chugging out plots because of you. Can I follow you around so this can go on_?

One: his pride. His goddamn pride. His pride and his art, two things that would never leave him. They were fixed, they were infinite. How did he choose between those two? It was like asking Olette who she liked more, Hayner and Pence. Or who annoyed her more.

Two: he couldn't _stand_ Axel. Warning bells went off like the creativity bells when he was so much as in earshot. Maybe it was the drugs factor, maybe it was the hair, or maybe he was racist against Germans. Who knew? But something was off and weird about that guy, and as muse-worthy as he was, Roxas's survival instincts told him to _stay away_.

He mulled it over. He mulled it over until there was nothing _to_ mull over, and the imagery of chewing cud came of mind, and that was just plain gross.

Could he do it? Could he choose between pride and this feeling of wholeness?

He threw himself back down, and.

Yes, yes he could.

This Feeling of Wholeness, this Complete Sense of Being, was a drug. Better than cocaine, more addicting than nicotine, more enjoyable and damaging as love. No, this _was_ love. This feeling of productivity when he looked at his now-full whiteboard, covered in miniscule tattoos all over, would be the only love he would ever, ever feel. He didn't have to follow Axel around everywhere; after a quick mental calculation (even math made more sense when his ears, eyes, nose, mouth, skin was ringing with Axel), even five minutes would suffice a day.

Besides, what could the guy be? A _mafia advisor_?

Snorting at the thought of such a scatter-brained, motor mouth guy working in a mafia was just the thing he needed to make up his mind.

Alright.

He heaved himself up again and gripped the ladders that led him back down from heaven, onto Earth. The smell of tofu steak was still in the air, and the sound of obnoxious video game music filled his ears. It seemed to be a requirement for all of Sora's games: loud, catchy music.

"Have you seen my phone?" He paused and picked up Namine's sketchbook from her graphite-stained hands.

"Hey, give it back." However, she made no movement to get it back. "And I think it's still in your room. Mom was cleaning the place."

"This is…" He was stunned. "Isn't this St. Jude?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah." She beamed at him. "The school asked me to do the art for the school's guidebook!"

"Nam, that…" He was shocked; when did Namine get this good? "Wow. _Wow_."

"Maybe it can be part of my resume." Her look was sly. "I'm getting paid, too. For every guidebook bought."

The guidebook was, like the "newspaper," pretentiously expensive. "Nam, I think I may have to make a crappy AMV in honor of this day."

"Stop joking and give it back." She had a healthy glow of self-worth, something she never had before. This was good for her, taking a break from humility. She could use the confidence.

Dreamlike state was dreamlike.

Only the sight of his phone was enough to bring him out of it, and he pushed the machine open. The first text from Demyx was moved into his "save" folder, and he quickly pushed the right buttons (literally) to get Axel's number from his cousin.

Who used exclamation marks way too much.

Roxas smiled.

**Hahaha, bad habits are bad. I swear to write more? But I have a **_**traditional Chinese characters class**_** as part of the curriculum. Korea is screwed in so many ways. I have much to learn. **

**I really don't have anything to say on this except that a) I edited the first chapter; b) I didn't edit **_**this**_** chapter; c) weak writer needs criticism. As always. **

**Also, even if you never read my shit anyways: Basil! Bright sunshine in my life, if you know nothing on Kingdom Hearts, it's only fair that I remain ignorant of Pokemon, right? **


End file.
